


holy palmer's kiss

by marryingthebed



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Temporary Character Death, How Do I Tag, M/M, Post-Serum, Pre-Serum, The Kissing Hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marryingthebed/pseuds/marryingthebed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve knows exactly what Bucky's going to do, but it still breaks his heart. </p><p> </p><p>(or: 5 times Bucky kisses Steve's palm)</p><p>(+1 time -something else- happens)</p>
            </blockquote>





	holy palmer's kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Shush, I know this isn't what a 'holy palmer's kiss' is I'm sorry Shakespeare titles are difficult. Um, based off this picture book my parents read to me when I was little called 'The Kissing Hand' bc I'm a SAP

(1)

 

The boys from St. Joseph’s are jerks, Steve knows that, has always known that, from practically day one, but even if he hadn’t, the bruises and black eye he’s currently sporting stand as pretty good evidence. 

 

“Shit, Stevie,” Bucky says, chewing on his bottom lip, “they really got you good, didn’t they? If I’d--”

 

“Relax, Buck. If you’d come any sooner that would’ve meant that you’d skipped out on sweeping Mr. O’Reilly’s porch, and we can’t have that now, can we?” Smiling hurts his jaw, so he stops, tries not to flinch when Bucky starts wiping the cut on his cheek with a damp washcloth. 

 

“You could’ve hollered or something, I mean, Christ, it was three against one!” 

 

“I was the one that started it.”

 

Bucky sits back, his hand squeezing into a fist, making water from the washcloth run down his wrist in tiny little droplets. Steve very pointedly Does Not Look. “Ya know, I figured, but then I thought to myself ‘Nah, Steve’s stupid, but he’s not _that_ stupid.’”

 

Steve laughs, a little shaky. “Well, apparently I am.”

 

“So what was it this time? Were they harassing that poor dame from down the street? Trying to drown kittens? I’d ask if they were picking on you, but God forbid you’d ever actually defend _yourself_ \--”

 

“They were ragging on that poor fella across the way who isn’t quite right in the head, okay? You happy?” Without meaning to Steve finds himself standing, his hands clenched into fists. Only that hurts too, and he looks down in surprise at the blood on his palms. “Oh.” 

 

“Here, lemme see,” Bucky says, back to being all soft and gentle, the spitting image of his mother. He cradles Steve’s hand like it’s made of glass, sucks in a breath at the red blooming from the center. “You know what this reminds me of? That story, the one the nuns told us ages ago in Sunday school, about that one saint who had visions, I think, and he beat himself and stuff and would wake up to see blood on his hands, like Christ had when he was nailed to the cross--”  


“ _Stigmata_ ,” Steve says, finds his voice has gotten all soft and gentle too. “I think this is from me bracing myself when I fell, Buck, not from me being a future saint.” 

 

Bucky smiles, the moment apparently over. “So no Saint Stevie, huh? Too bad, it’d be a doozy to see you up there, with Jude and Christopher and all those other fellas.” He brings Steve’s hand up higher, as if to examine it further, but after a second he does something else--presses his lips to the center of Steve’s palm, the softest of kisses. 

 

“Did you--” Steve says, tries to control his breathing, because it’s like all the air has suddenly been sucked out of his body.

 

Bucky just shakes his head, as if he hasn’t completely flipped the world upside down, and reached to pick up the washcloth again. “S’all better now, isn’t it?”

 

Steve stares at Bucky, the way his hair curls under his ears and that little half-smile on his lips. “I guess so.”

 

(2)

 

Somehow, it becomes a habit. Not Steve getting beaten up--hell, that’s always been a habit--or even Bucky patching him up. It’s just that now, Bucky will always find the time to press a kiss into Steve’s palm, a promise or reassurance or _something_ , all Steve knows is that it makes him ache with a million things he’s not allowed to want. 

 

Like right now, with his mother newly buried and Bucky neatly rearranging the couch cushions on the floor, as if pretending that they’re kids again could really be that easy. He toes off his shoes, grins at Steve like it’s Christmas or something, his eyes so filled with hope that it’s hard to look at him. “You gonna join me, Rogers?”

 

“Yeah, just--give me a second, okay?” Because it’s hitting him again, really hitting him--his mother’s gone and he’s never gonna be a little kid again, not ever, and the boy standing in front of him is all he has left. 

 

The boy that’s now moving closer, practically crowding Steve in, and whispering “Hey, it’s fine. You need to let it out, let it out, right?” The boy that’s not flinching when Steve’s hand grabs at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, the boy whose arms wrap around Steve automatically, and, _God_ , it’s hard not to think that they fit together, that they always have. 

 

Steve buries his nose in Bucky’s shoulder, inhales sweat and cologne, thinks about the way his mother always smelled like hospitals and roses, how it was that hospital smell that ended up killing her. And Steve’s not crying, all right? He _isn’t_ , Bucky’s just suddenly searching for a handkerchief because he’s _considerate_. 

 

After Steve’s blown his nose and gathered up whatever’s left of his pride, he realizes that Bucky’s arms are still around him, but when he tries to put some distance between them Bucky just whispers “Hey, wait a second,” reaches for Steve’s hand, and even though Steve knows exactly what he’s going to do it still breaks his heart when Bucky kisses his palm, a little harder than usual, as if he’s saying _I’m here, I’m here, I won’t leave I swear_ right in Steve’s ear.

 

And just for a second, Steve closes his eyes and believes him. 

 

(3)

 

Leaving the recruitment center, Steve’s still in a daze, finds himself going over every single word that Dr. Erskine said to him, the way his perpetual 4F had been transformed into a 1A. He’s so stunned he almost doesn’t notice Bucky, except he _always_ notices Bucky, especially when he’s in his uniform, looking ridiculously handsome and ridiculously brave, even better than the guys they always show on the newsreels. 

 

God, what if Steve ends up seeing Bucky on the newsreels? He’s not sure if he could take it, watching Bucky cheese it up for the camera, or--even worse--what if they’re showing injured soldiers, and Steve suddenly realizes that one of them looks awfully familiar--

 

Except he won’t. If things work out, Steve’ll be right there next to Bucky, fighting the good fight. Highly doubtful that he’ll end up on any newsreels, though. 

 

He’s just about to tell Bucky the good news when he finds himself being pulled--practically _dragged_ \--away from the center, Bucky’s hand tight around his wrist. Is he angry with Steve for trying to enlist again? Because he’d seemed fine earlier, maybe a little irritated but--

 

And then they’re stopping, right at the end of an alleyway that Steve’s sure he’s gotten beaten up in several times, though never at night, and it’s so dark he can barely make out Bucky’s face, except to tell that his friend looks almost _determined_ , and, huh, that’s new. 

 

Bucky puffs out a breath, one hand still clamped around Steve’s wrist but the other going to his pocket, a little nervously. “Look, I just needed to--before I left, I mean, I just….I need to do this, okay?” 

 

And before Steve has any time to think Bucky’s tugging his wrist up, turning his hand over, and, _oh_ , that’s Bucky’s mouth on Steve’s palm, no different from before, only this time he’s lingering, breath soft and sweet on Steve’s skin, though from the way Steve’s heart is pounding it might as well be sharp as a knife. 

 

“I’m gonna see you again. I swear, Stevie, this whole damn war’ll be worth it if I can see you again,” Bucky whispers, and then someone passes by the entrance of the alley and he flinches, drops Steve’s hand like it’s suddenly caught flame, and that’s when Steve realizes that Bucky knows too, that what’s between the two of them isn’t something they can let anybody else see. Hell, that’s why they’re standing in this damn alley anyway, the smell of garbage filling their noses--because the fact that Steve is fighting the urge to cry right now is something that ought to be hidden. 

 

The group of people pass, and Steve’s rubbing his thumb on the center of his palm, which feels strange, like it’s still warm from Bucky’s kiss. “Hey,” he says, and even though it’s barely a whisper, Bucky flinches. “Hey, of course we’re gonna see each other again. ‘Til the end of the line, right?”

 

“Feels like a million years ago that I said that,” Bucky says, and, no, Steve’s not going to accept that, so he wraps his hand around Bucky’s wrist and tugs him closer, until, if Bucky just ducked down and leaned forward a few inches, their foreheads would be touching.  

 

“‘Til the end of the line, Buck?” 

 

It feels like a miracle, but Bucky does it, closes the space between them until their noses almost bump into each other. “Yeah, Steve. ‘Til the end of the line.” 

 

(4)

 

He’s used to his new body now, he really is. Months of nimbly avoiding chorus girls and posing for the cameras have trained him into being as comfortable as he could possibly be with this, this _huge_ , impossible symbol of a man, this Captain America. 

 

It’s easy, being a symbol, until it isn’t. Here, standing in front of Bucky, both of them covered in dirt and sweat and blood and who knows what else, this is a thousand times better than any stage or dance number. This is real, the two of them breathing hard, Steve’s hand reaching for Bucky’s cheek, except, that’s the thing--Steve’s used to being big, but he’s not used to being big around Bucky. 

 

It’s not that Bucky’s small now, it’s just that he _feels_ smaller, and now when Steve sucks in a breath Bucky has to look up to meet his eyes. He must be noticing it too, because he smiles and laughs a little nervously, says “This is pretty crazy, huh?”

 

“You don’t have to worry about me getting sick anymore,” Steve replies, something he’s thought about saying to Bucky thousands of times since the serum.

 

Bucky frowns. “Nah, just gotta worry about you getting filled with Nazi bullets.” 

 

“Buck, I--”

 

“No, it’s fine, honestly. Guess I should’ve known that you’d do anything to get into this damn war. Though I’d always thought you’d end up with an office job, not volunteering to be somebody’s fucking _experiment_ \--”

 

Steve can feel the tips of his ears getting red. “It wasn’t like that, Ersk--”

 

“Erskine _what_ , Stevie? Told you there was no chance something’d go wrong? Gave you any other options? Christ, some people who have stuff like that done to them don’t have any choice, and the fact that you _did_ , you could’ve backed out and you still gave them the go-ahead, is just…” Bucky trails off, and when he exhales Steve can practically see the fight going out of him. “Sorry, Stevie, I’m all messed up.” 

 

“No, it’s--it’s fine, Buck, I just, I couldn’t be that guy anymore, you know?” It’s hitting him, all over again, how much he used to ache. Memories of bruised wrists and scabbed knees, cruel laughter in the background, somehow manage to seem sharper now, and Steve closes his eyes, doesn’t move until he feels Bucky take his hand.

 

“There was nothing wrong with that guy,” Bucky says, soft. “And it’s not like you’re a completely different person now, right? You’re still m--you’re still Steve.” 

 

“I guess? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.” And there, that’s the thing that he’s afraid to admit--that maybe little Steve Rogers is gone completely, and with nobody left to even miss him. 

 

Bucky laughs, and all of a sudden he’s flipped Steve’s hand over and is tracing the lines of his palm, touch just as gentle as it’s always been. “Nah, that can’t be. You’re still Stevie, and I got proof--your hands are exactly the same.” Still careful, he raises Steve’s palm to his lips, ignoring the grime, and Bucky’s kiss is just as warm as ever. He lingers there for just a moment, but then he’s raising his head to ask “Nothing’s changed, right?”

 

Practically everything’s changed, but Steve just nods and says “Nothing at all.” 

 

(5)

 

It’s cold, colder even than a goddamn Brooklyn winter, and Steve and Bucky are huddled together in their tent, Morita on watch and all the other commandoes gone off to their own tents to get warm. Warmth sounds like a myth right now, but Steve’s got his arms wrapped tight around Bucky’s waist, and even with their teeth chattering it feels so _good_ , better than sitting out in the sun on a summer day. 

 

Bucky rolls over, presses their foreheads together, and it reminds Steve of the last time they shared the couch cushions back home. Steve leans closer, their noses touching now, and for a few seconds they just _breathe_ together, Bucky squeezing his eyes shut from the comfort of it. 

 

“Bucky,” Steve says, careful, like he’s talking to that grumpy old alley cat that used to hang out in front of Peterson’s, “hey, look at me.”

 

Bucky’s eyes open. “You really wanna get something off your chest right now?” As if proving a point, he tries to nestle even closer. 

 

“Just--” _Breathe, Rogers_. “Are we ever going to, to talk about this? The-the two of us?” 

 

The last thing Steve’s expecting is for Bucky to look annoyed, but, well, he narrows his eyes and says “That’s what you wanna talk about? In the middle of a fucking storm?” 

 

“Um--”

 

“Look, Stevie, I’d figured we’d already talked about it, but if you really need some sort of validation or something…” And then Bucky’s reaching down, and for one heart-stopping moment Steve thinks that he might be reaching down _there_ , but all he does is grab Steve’s hand from where it’s curled between the two of them and press a sloppy kiss to it, like he can’t believe that he has to do this. 

 

“I just thought,” he says, mouth moving in a very distracting way against Steve’s skin, “that we’d wait ‘til all this was over. That okay with you?” 

 

“I--yeah, that’s okay. Better than okay.” Steve’s heart seems to have travelled up to his throat, but he falls asleep with that same hand cupping the back of Bucky’s neck, so really, everything’s grand.

 

Except a week later, Bucky falls. 

 

And when it’s Steve’s turn, some time later, to go crashing into the ice, all he can seem to after he’s said his goodbyes to Peggy is stare down at the lines on his palms. 

 

(+1)

 

Quite a few decades later, Bucky is standing on Steve’s porch, chewing his lip and not meeting Steve’s eyes. There are a few things Steve catalogues automatically--shorter hair, raggedy clothes, lines around his best friend’s mouth that weren’t there before--but beyond that, there is a bone-crushing sense of _relief_. 

 

“Hey,” he says, and Bucky looks up. 

 

It takes a second for Bucky to speak, as if he’s thinking hard about every word coming out of his mouth. “You...you probably don’t want me here. Shouldn’t want me here. Stevie,” Bucky’s voice cracks, and that’s when Steve realizes they’re probably both on the verge of tears, “I’m all messed up.”

 

“It’s okay, Buck. We’ll figure it out, like we always do.” And then, because he’s thought about doing this hundreds upon hundreds of times, Steve reaches for Bucky’s hand, and at first Bucky flinches, but then he seems to understand, let’s Steve’s fingers wrap around the wrist of metal arm and tug it up, up, until Steve’s kissing it, tasting metal and letting that familiar Bucky smell fill his nose. “We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, doesn’t care about how the metal scrapes his lips. 

 

And that, that is when Bucky starts to cry. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ok so I'm REALLY not Catholic and only know about the stigmata bc I'm an art history nerd but essentially Bucky is mixing up a couple stories, just like the first person who ever told me about the stigmata mixed up a couple stories. Firstly, they're usually actual entire HOLES in the person's hand (religion is so hardcore man) , just like the holes one would get from, well, being nailed to something, although stigmata can just refer to any wounds similar to those Christ received on the cross. And several saints are known for having stigmata, including St. Francis of Assisi, although none of them as far as I know ever beat themselves??? that's from the person who originally told me about stigmata, and I just liked the idea of Bucky kind of dramatizing it a little anyway I would like to apologize for my lack of knowledge about Catholicism and if anyone has any corrections they can leave them in the comments or message me on tumblr @queer-barnes!!!


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